Juncture
by Cymoril Avalon
Summary: It seems the nightmare isn't over after all. Post Resident Evil 5.


Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously AU. If you ask me, this is how Resident Evil 5 should have ended, but I don't work for Capcom.

* * *

The apartment was dingy - the faded wallpaper was peeling around the edges, the doors creaked loud enough to wake the dead, and the windows occasionally refused to open - but the rent had been paid up front, in cash, for three months, and the landowner had asked no questions. The plumbing was old and not especially reliable, cracks lined the walls and ceilings, and the lights occasionally flickered and went out.

At least there were no rodents, no insects scrabbling around the floors, and the furniture - and mattresses - were fairly new and unstained. There was food in the cabinets and refrigerator, the air conditioning unit worked well (if noisily), and the neighbors were relatively subdued.

_Wait here,_ her brother had told her, voice firm and unyielding. _Well be back in a day, two at the latest._

Four days had passed.

_Wait here._

And so Claire had waited, wearing ruts in the carpet where she paced endlessly, internally fuming at her inaction but trying so, so hard to wrestle down her impulses. She wanted nothing more than to go after her brother as she had numerous times in the past, well aware that he put himself in danger without a thought as to how he might survive.

But he'd made her promise, and Jill was with him. If anyone could keep him intact, it was Jill Valentine. The two had worked together for what felt like decades, and after her disappearance - Chris had steadfastly refused to accept that she was dead - he'd doggedly pursued her trail until he'd discovered her alive and well. And Wesker had been defeated, finally - not even he could survive a rocket and a volcano.

Claire had assumed life would calm down after, but she'd been wrong.

Chris had caught wind of _something_, refused to give her any concrete details, and had taken off after squirreling her away, not wanting to leave any loose ends behind. He'd insisted he wanted nothing to happen to her, and whatever information he'd stumbled upon had left him concerned over her well being. She'd argued, insisting that she could better defend herself if she knew what they were up against, but he was a stubborn man and kept her in the dark.

And now he was late.

Claire glanced at the clock and her eyes narrowed.

_Wait here_, he'd made her promise, but she couldn't keep that promise any longer.

She had long ago fished through whatever personal effects he'd brought along - there was no doubt in her mind that were their positions reversed, Chris would do the exact same thing - and stumbled across very little of use. What she did find made her blood run cold. Photographs mostly, a few cryptic telephone logs, and even a few memos on faded Umbrella letterhead that she tossed aside as soon as she scanned the contents; Umbrella was dead and gone, and whatever this threat was, it was most certainly more immediate than any potential leftovers.

Just to be safe, well aware of the pains Chris had gone through to keep her location hidden, Claire tucked her hair beneath a faded baseball cap and wore a pair of her brother's sunglasses. It probably wouldn't do a lick of good, but it made her feel a little more secure just to go through the motions. Her magnum nestled against her hip comfortingly, and she kept it covered with an oversized sweatshirt.

Claire emerged into a miserable drizzle and spent a few minutes observing the passersby rushing past her, too busy to pay much attention to the girl standing outside a rundown apartment building. Without knowing exactly what she was looking for, she skulked around the city, purchasing the local paper and perusing the news, wandering in and out of shops, listening to conversations and keeping her eyes and ears wide open.

This routine was followed for another two days - two long, silent days - yielding nothing, though Claire did become very familiar with a coffee shop a few blocks from the apartment.

By that time, her funds were running low, and she was debating whether or not to risk hitting up an ATM. If anyone was monitoring her accounts, it would give away her location, and her run-ins with Umbrella had left her more than a little paranoid.

She didn't bother going to the police to file a missing persons report. She already knew they would be of no help, and would most likely hinder her search, not to mention ask a slew of unwanted questions that she simply could not answer.

After a week, Claire grew frantic, and called Leon in the middle of the night, though it didn't sound as if she'd woken him up.

"I need you."

"I'll be there soon."

But he never showed up, either.

Guilt began to settle in. She should never have listened to Chris, she should have chased after him the second he stepped foot out the door, she should have been more adamant about being told what was going on. Usually, he left a wider trail than this, and she was growing worried that someone else had gone back and wiped out any pieces that would point in his direction.

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_! The _one_ time she listened to him!

When she found him, she was never going to let him live this down. She was going to handcuff him to his bed and never let him leave the apartment again. Or better yet - and more realistically - she was going to implant a tracking device into his thigh like those little chips people put in their pets in case they got lost. Hell, she should have done that as soon as they left Antarctica.

Claire left a few voicemails on Leon's cell phone, growing more frustrated and frightened with every passing minute. Her routine became unstable, and she began spending more of her time in the coffee shop, tucked away in a corner, trying to remain calm and smother the cold feeling that was slowly, inexorably creeping up her spine.

Finally, she was forced to visit an ATM to replenish the dwindled food supply in the apartment. As much as she'd like to, she couldn't survive on coffee alone, and she'd already lost weight from her lack of appetite and constant worrying. When she looked in the mirror, the bruised eyes and sallow skin seemed to belong to a stranger.

Two weeks had passed since her brother disappeared when she finally heard a knock on the door.

Her spirits soared, and she hurried to the door without thinking, without any precaution, and threw it open, expecting to see Leon or, if her luck was especially good, her brother.

Instead, she faced a ghost.

"Wesker."

"The one and only."

"You're dead." Though the photographs had shown otherwise, date stamped and all.

"Funny how that works."

Claire's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here? Where's Chris? How are you still alive?"

"Tsk, tsk, Miss Redfield. One thing at a time. First..."

Claire's hand went to her hip even though she knew she wouldn't be fast enough.

"I've brought a present for you, dear heart," Wesker said smoothly as he dropped Chris' head at her feet.


End file.
